


work it out

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 20:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11260518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: This isn’t one of those ‘sit and talk about it’ moments, apparently.





	work it out

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how I used to write short pwp-type things almost every day and I was like "Why can't I do that anymore?" Turns out I can, maybe, or at least I can today. I dunno how satisfied I am with this but #AtLeastITried

Drift senses Rodimus pacing outside his door for three minutes before he actually knocks. He considers getting up and opening it before then, but imagines it wiser to time out Rodimus’ procrastination to see how worked up he is, which could maybe let him know the best way to handle it. He pretends he doesn’t want to stop meditating, but honestly his focus has been on the back and forth footsteps for a while, and it doesn’t take him more than a second to unfold himself from the floor and get up.

It takes Rodimus even less time to come up against him and flip him around to the wall, pinning him against it with his whole body as he crushes Drift’s lips in a kiss. And in the next moment, he’s pulling back, relaxing his oppressive stance into something more open and looking frustrated with himself. “Sorry, I just—” he bites off his excuse and looks away as Drift’s eyes search his face, taking another step back and starting to let his arms sag down from where they’re caging Drift in against the door. This isn’t one of those ‘sit and talk about it’ moments, apparently.

Drift swallows down his impulse to immediately tug Rodimus back towards him. He hates it when he does that because it makes it really hard to focus on recommending healthier coping mechanisms.

But then, maybe they can do both.

He does reach out and yank Rodimus back up against his chest, drinking in the heat from Rodimus’ arms against his shoulders, and his legs when they step in naturally to fall against his plating. He’s hot, probably from anger or whatever this particular blend of upset is that’s got him so riled, but Drift thinks maybe he can redirect that into something more productive. Something they can burn off.

He reaches up to stroke his fingertips softly along Rodimus’ cheek. “Frag now, talk later?” he suggests, making a conscious effort not to bite his lip.

Rodimus nods eagerly, not looking as if he’s really heard, more excited that Drift isn’t pushing him away. “Right. Yeah,” he says, and he dives in again, slamming Drift again hard into the door. They’re instantly a tangle of limbs, with Drift’s arms over Rodimus’ shoulders and his legs leaping up to wrap around Rodimus’ hips. Rodimus thrusts his whole body back against him as they kiss fiercely, letting their panels spark together at the friction and angling his head to probe deeper into Drift’s mouth.

Drift moans, pushing back against Rodimus because he knows Rodimus wants something to fight. Whatever’s got him all worked up, he’s not taking it out on Drift, but they’ve both established that they don’t mind a bit of roughhousing, and it jolts straight down to his core when Rodimus slams him back again against the unrelenting metal, breaking quickly away from his mouth and nipping down his jaw, over the cords in his neck. He grinds his hips roughly up against Drift’s and the mech gasps, squeezing his thighs around them. He lets his panels release fluidly and hugs his captain to his neck, gripping the back of his helm. “Berth. Rodimus, berth, please,” he murmurs as Rodimus’ teeth play at the thick cords in his neck.

Rodimus makes a low noise and takes his arm off the wall to pull Drift against him, carrying him the few paces across the room. He sets him down on the slab with just a bit of force, positioning himself over the other mech so that he’s still surrounded—one arm between Drift’s side and his own, one hand above his shoulder, and his knees on either side of Drift’s. Drift has his other knee bent up slightly towards his body and he tilts it outward, opening up Rodimus’ reach to his equipment.

Rodimus’ intake catches on a sharp vent and he lowers himself down against the other mech, taking his hand from his shoulder and tracing down his side to the joint of his hip. He tilts his helm down and presses his mouth to Drift’s chest plate as his fingers skirt closer to his valve. Drift takes in a vent of his own, but he’s just heard Rodimus’ spike pressurize and knows he isn’t in the mood to be patient, so he won’t tease.

And yes, Rodimus’ fingers hardly trace around the edges of his valve before plunging into his slickness and pumping easily along his primed nodes. Drift groans and clutches at the other mech’s spoiler, the plates in his abdomen tensing as Rodimus half-heartedly kisses across them, clearly absorbed in the soft, wet feel of his valve on his fingertips. His movements are deft and somewhat aggressive, but not unpleasant or unskilled. He’s twisting his fingers along Drift’s dripping insides and spreading him wide enough for a third finger, and Drift is squirming under this focused attention, wanting more.

“ _Rodimus,_ ” he groans, his hip twitching hard against where Rodimus has him half pinned to the berth with his body, trying to get more depth, more stretch and knowing he can’t with just this. But he doesn’t think he’ll have to wait much longer.

Rodimus turns his head down against Drift’s stomach again, rocking his whole body against him in an an anticipatory sort of swell. He lifts his head as if it takes an enormous amount of effort, but keeps working his fingers thickly into Drift’s valve. “Drift, are you—?”

Drift strains to look at him but can’t keep still from wanting to arch into Rodimus’ hand. “Yeah, _please_. Don’t hold back…”

In the next second he’s awash with cold as Rodimus draws back from him, only for him to settle between his legs. He hikes Drift’s knees into his elbows and folds back over him, letting his spike slide into Drift’s throbbing valve on the momentum. They both moan at the sudden pressure, which comes all at once, almost too quickly, but not enough for them to stop. Rodimus rocks his hips out immediately and slams back in.

With Drift’s knees pressing into the berth, Rodimus is spreading him open _wide_ so he can thrust in _deep_ and Drift’s valve is pulsating around the thick stretch of him pushing and sliding against his walls. He arches his back and vents hard, fans spinning wildly at their highest setting. “Oh _Primus,_ Rodimus!”

Rodimus groans, not slowing his pace. “Yeah, you said it,” he mutters through gritted teeth, leaning his helm into Drift’s shoulder again and pulling his knees up higher, clearly absorbed in pleasure, his mind pretty far from the cause of this encounter and now ready to see it through to the end. Drift nearly shouts as his valve twitches and squeezes harder around his captain’s spike, making Rodimus give another loud, impassioned moan and redouble his efforts after a brief stutter. Drift hugs him tighter against him and lifts his hips of the berth a little higher. His spike is pressed between their abdominal plating, reaping the frictional benefits of Rodimus’ frenzied thrusting and causing Drift to climb towards climax rather quickly.

“Rodimus— _ahh —_ ” Drift gasps, hoping to warn him, but his impending overload comes to him quicker than he’d thought. His valve spasms and his spike leaks washes of lubricant between them as Rodimus continues to slam into him, groaning. His lips are on the corner of Drift’s mouth and Drift shifts the angle to meet him as he rides out the waves. Rodimus gives a few more hard thrusts and spills even more mess inside him, which continues to leak out between them, though not so much as when Rodimus finally withdraws from Drift completely and it spills out in a steady stream onto the berth below them.

Rodimus collapses against Drift’s side and the two of them vent wordlessly as their fans spin down. Drift idly offlines his optics and strokes along Rodimus’ spinal strut. Rodimus is running his thumb in small circles along the plating on Drift’s sides.

“Feel better?” Drift asks after a long moment of silence.

Rodimus blows out a harsh vent that ghosts across the underside of Drift’s jaw, but without the same blazing heat as before. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Thanks.”


End file.
